My dreams had danced—vivid, alluring, savory, then radiant. I clung to their warmth, but wakefulness tore me free. The peace of last night, a serenity I hadn’t known since Keiya, lingered. Rina had woven it, her touch calming my tormented heart. Yet the wine’s bitter tang haunted me, its strange weight pulling me into unconsciousness. Something had been off—too swift, too heavy for mere drink. I sensed a shadow in it, a betrayal I couldn’t name. I pushed the thought aside.

I opened my eyes, vision sharpening from blur. Reaching for Rina, I turned her to me—and froze. Amber skin glowed in the dawn’s light, onyx eyes gleamed, but this was not her. I sprang from the bed, seizing my Kris, its blade pointed at the stranger’s throat. “Who are you?” I growled. “Where’s Rina? Speak, or die.”
She shifted, unfazed. “Puncturing me won’t bring answers.”
“It’ll seal your doom,” I snapped.
“And yours,” she said, her voice steady. “Spill my blood, and you’ll never leave Anthera alive.”
“Enough,” I barked. “Who are you? How are you here?”
“I’m Lyra,” she said. “Rina let me in.”
“Let you in?” I eased the blade back. “Why? Where is she?”
“She left. I don’t know where.”
“Nonsense,” I huffed, but her calm dress sparked a dread. “Did I… touch you?”
Lyra’s lips curved. “I saw you fight in the circle, and I wanted you. When Rina sought someone to tend your fever last night, I volunteered. It was… more than a touch.” Her smile widened. “You’re recovered.”
“Preposterous,” I muttered. Fever? The wine’s haze wasn’t fever—it was too sudden, too deep. Ale never felled me so fast. I’d unravel this later. Grabbing my scattered clothes, I dressed swiftly.
“Where are you going?” Lyra’s voice sang, airy, teasing.
“To make sense of this madness,” I said, slotting my last blade into its sheath. “I’ll deal with you later.”

I stepped from the tent, the musky animal skin mat giving way to packed earth. The morning sky blazed blue, a cool breeze carrying the scent of cookfires—roasted meat, steaming porridge. Women and daughters bustled, hauling water and fuelwood, their chatter mingling with the clatter of pots. Boys darted through the camp, some sparring with sticks, their laughter sharp, training for warriorhood. Eyes followed me, whispers trailing—my victory in the circle had marked me. Their gazes, a mix of awe and curiosity, warmed my rattled heart.

A familiar face emerged through the camp’s bustle—Kade, one of Darka’s men, his leather armor creaking as he approached. “Greetings,” he said, bowing, his young face bright with respect. I nodded, my pulse still racing from Lyra’s revelation. Rina—gone. The wine’s shadow gnawed at me, her absence a wound I couldn’t name. I wanted her, needed her, yet her actions—leaving me with Lyra, the strange drink—stirred anger and confusion. Why had she fled? Was it betrayal, or something deeper?

“I’m to escort you,” Kade said, his voice cutting through the chatter of women nearby, their buckets clanging. “Darka thought you’d join the hunting party. Rina said you’d stay longer, and your presence would inspire the men.”

My breath caught, the camp’s morning clamor—children’s shouts, the crackle of fires—fading as her name hit me. “Rina said what?” I asked, my voice low, hands clenching. “Where is she?”
“Gone,” Kade said, his brow furrowing, eyes darting as if unsure how to explain. “Darka sent fifteen warriors to escort her this morning.”
Fifteen? A
generous number for Anthera. Was she safe? My heart surged with longing, but fury tightened my chest—she’d left me, drugged me, abandoned me to Lyra. “When?” I pressed, my voice sharp, the scent of smoke from a nearby fire stinging my nose.

“Before dawn,” a weathered voice answered, gravelly and unyielding. An older woman stepped forward, her tanned skin creased like worn leather, her gray hair tangled, eyes glinting with eerie knowing. Her ragged cloak swayed as a boy ran past, his wooden sword clacking against another’s. “Victor of the Vicious Game,” she said, her lips curling faintly.

My spine stiffened, breath hitching. That title—buried in my past, unspoken here. How did she know? The camp’s bustle pulsed around us—women’s laughter, the sizzle of meat on a spit—but her gaze pinned me, unblinking. “Ignore her,” Kade muttered, shifting uneasily, his hand twitching toward his blade. “Andra’s troubled.”

“Troubled?” she scoffed, her voice sharp, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer, her boots scuffing the dirt. “If my foretelling’s trouble, wait till he meets the man he seeks.” Her finger jabbed toward me, trembling slightly, her amusement tinged with warning. The air grew heavy, the camp’s morning din—clanging pots, children’s shouts—fading as her words sank in.

A Seer. My throat tightened, Rina’s absence and the wine’s haze swirling in my mind. I needed her—her fire, her mystery—but her betrayal stung. Andra’s knowing gaze stirred a deeper dread, as if she saw through my soul. “Speak plainly,” I said, my voice low, fists clenching, the breeze carrying the faint tang of sweat and smoke.
“I’ve seen no man fight as you, son of Dun,” Andra said, her eyes gleaming like polished stone, her weathered hands folding calmly. “The heavens favor you, but they’ve decided—separating you from Rina.” Her words landed like a blade, my chest tightening as the truth in them echoed. The camp bustled on, a woman’s sharp call to her child cutting through, but I stood frozen, her prophecy gripping me.

“Rina—beautiful, mild, mysterious,” she continued, her voice softening, almost pitying, as she leaned closer, her cloak brushing the ground. “She pulls you from destiny. A tide rises in the North, your home. Your enemy awaits—his life in your hands will end your quest.”
Dakor. My pulse roared, my palms sweating as I saw it—his blood on my blade, Keiya’s death avenged. The vision was vivid, righteous, Andra’s words weaving a path I’d walked for years. The camp’s noise—boys’ laughter, a distant hammer’s clang—faded as I stood on that northern plain, Dakor’s end within reach. Vengeance called, pure and fierce, promising peace Keiya’s memory demanded. Yet Rina’s face flickered—her green eyes, her warmth, her whispered “join me.” My heart lurched, torn between the dead and the living.

I swallowed, my throat dry, the weight of her absence crushing. I wanted her, needed her answers—why the wine, why Lyra, why flee? Anger surged, but so did longing, her touch still burning in my memory. Andra’s gaze held mine, her weathered face unyielding, as if she saw my soul’s fracture. Kade stood silent, his brow creased, eyes darting between us, his confusion palpable in his tense stance, the morning sun glinting off his armor.

“You speak truth,” I said slowly, my voice rough, hands trembling as I met her eyes. “Dakor’s death is my oath, my peace.” The words felt heavy, true, but Rina’s pull clawed at me—a living fire against Keiya’s cold grave. The camp’s bustle intruded—a child’s squeal, the crackle of a fire—grounding me in the moment.

Andra nodded, her lips tightening. “North holds your fate. South, with Rina, offers only twists, mindless ventures.”
Her words stung, but something snapped within me. Keiya’s memory was a chain, Dakor’s death a shadow I’d chased too long. Rina—her mystery, her betrayal, her warmth—was real, alive. “What’s destiny without love?” I said, my voice rising, chest heaving. “What’s my fate without Rina?”

Andra’s eyes widened, her hands twitching as if struck. “You loved before,” she said, her voice low, urgent, her cloak swaying as a breeze carried the scent of burning wood. “Her veil fell, sparking desire the gods feared. The Vicious Game, under the moon—you fought champions, nearly died. The gods spared you. Remember?”
My breath caught, my vision blurring as memories flooded—Keiya’s face, the endless night, blood on my hands, my heart a breath from death. Andra’s words were a mirror, reflecting truths I’d buried. My knees weakened, the camp’s clamor—women’s chatter, a boy’s shout—distant as I stood in that past, Keiya’s loss raw again. Kade shifted, his face pale, eyes wide with incomprehension, his silence heavy with unease.

“Your passion tempts ruin,” Andra pressed, her voice sharp, eyes boring into mine. “Purge it. Destiny is walked alone.”
I shook my head, fists unclenching, the camp’s life pulsing around me—smoke rising, children running. “No,” I said, my voice steady, defiance burning. “My passion carved my name across the Oak realm. The gods had no hand in my survival—it was my will.” I stepped closer, my boots grinding dirt, my heart choosing. “Rina’s South, and so is my path.”

Andra’s face fell, her weathered hands dropping. “South holds darkness, mysteries,” she warned, her voice fading as a woman’s song rose nearby, lilting and mournful.
“Kade,” I said, turning to the warrior, his confusion etched in his furrowed brow, his hand still near his blade. “Tell Darka I’m leaving.” He nodded, vanishing into the camp’s bustle, his steps quick over the packed earth.

I faced Andra, my resolve iron. “Do you speak to the gods?”
Her eyes flickered, surprised, her cloak catching the breeze. “No. I see what the heavens show.”

“A shame,” I said, a smirk curling my lips, my pulse steady despite Rina’s absence gnawing at me. “I’d have sent them a message.” I turned, striding away, her stunned silence swallowed by the camp’s din—clanging pots, laughter, the sizzle of meat. I needed Rina—her fire, her answers, even her betrayal. The wine’s shadow lingered, a question I’d unravel when I found her.

The tent’s canvas glowed ahead, hunter songs drifting faintly. My dreams had crumbled, Rina’s absence a bitter weight, but I’d mend this, chasing her South, defying gods and fate with every step.